In The Right Light
by Marimo161
Summary: "Oh, yes. American football with a side of dancing. I had almost deleted it." John strikes up an unlikely friendship with the boy that runs lights. Theater Teen!lock. Features American!John and Techie!Sherlock.


_Hello! I'm back. I know, I know, go write Sweetest. BUT IM SORRY OKAY? Senior year sucks. The only reason I've had time to write this is because it was my best friend's 18th birthday I couldn't NOT write something for her. Anyway, I switched fandoms again. I know I'm despicable but this is such an awesome fandom. Oh my god. Anyways, enjoy this super long one-shot!_

In The Right Light

"_In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary." -Aaron Rose_

~o0o~

"I need you all to line up according to height."

Mr. Radford latched painfully onto John's arm and tugged him to the front of the line. Of course. John knew he shouldn't be offended. It wasn't the guy's fault, after all. He was just doing his job, but after three years of being the shortest player on the football team, these things get to you.

What was he doing here, anyway? John Hamish Watson wasn't a dancer or an actor. He didn't know the first thing about theater. He didn't have anything against it and it was always fun to go see the shows and stuff, but it just wasn't his thing.

"Hey! Get your fingers out of your mouth! Do you know what is on your fingers right now? Dirt and feces! You are eating FECES!" Mr. Radford shouted at the guy next to him.

Good lord, this guy was crazy. How did the kids who're in plays all the time deal with this?

"Eh, it's not so bad." Oh. Did he say that out loud? "This is actually funny compared to how he usually acts," The boy next to him whispered.

"John Watson."

"I'm Ben; it's nice to meet ya. You're one of the sports people he pulled in right? Because we don't have enough guys?"

"Yeah. I have no idea why I agreed to this."

"Hey, maybe you'll like it. This is the best part actually~"

"Best part?"

"Yeah this is where Joanne takes over...She's the choreographer," He added after seeing John's blank look.

That was dancing right? John could do this. He wanted to try something different and help these guys out, so he would.

"Okay guys. Now the first part is three eight counts long…."

~o0o~

John sat down in one of the theater seats and let his head collide with the seat in front of him. He was exhausted. Football practice first and then this thing right afterward. He was going to kill the part of him that spontaneously decided to do this. But he had to admit, It was kind of fun. It was a different kind of hard work that John never experienced before and he was kind of good at it.

Smiling slightly and peeling his sweaty forehead off the back of the seat, he pulled his backpack on and trudged his way backstage. Mr. Radford had ridiculous rules. Why couldn't he just exit out the front? It's not like the world would spontaneously explode because—

"Oh shit, I am so sorry!" John picked up the paintbrushes that had flown everywhere when he stupidly ran into the boy who was now flat on his ass. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

John held out the hand didn't have paint brushes in it but the boy didn't take it. He just looked up at John with startling, pale blue eyes and tilted his head.

"Proper or American football?" The strange boy drawled in a distinct British accent. It caught John off guard a bit.

"Wait, I'm sorry, what?" He rolled his eyes and sighed like John was the dumbest person on the face of the planet.

"Soccer or Football?" He clarified. John thought he heard 'Imbecile' muttered under his breath. The boy stood back up and rolled up the sleeves on his ridiculous dress shirt.

"Um, Football. Sorry, how did you-"

"Good luck with your alcoholic sister." The boy snatched his paintbrushes away and disappeared further backstage.

John stood there, staring after him. What the hell just happened?

~o0o~

John didn't see the abrupt, rude kid at the next dance practice (or rehearsal. John was still getting used to that) or when they started acting. He wanted to see what his problem was but he hadn't caught him.

"Hey, Watson! What's up, man?" Wilkes walked up to him and slapped him on the back.

"Not much. On the way to that dance rehearsal thing."

"Oh, dude. You're doing that? Good luck."

"HA. I'll need it. But my mom thought it was a good idea, so..." Lies. This was John's decision. They wouldn't laugh at him for thinking it was fun but he'd rather not risk it. It was just a habit.

"Yeah, I hear ya. Hey, there's that British kid," Wilkes whispered conspiratorially. "Moved here from London. Heard he's a bit of a freak."

John looked over sharply. Well, look who decided to show up? The boy was tossing his textbooks carelessly into his locker and flicking his curly, black hair out of his face.

"Oh. Yeah, he was kind of...strange to me a few days ago."

"Huh. Well, see you later, bro."

"Yeah, later." John waved behind him as he strode with purpose toward their topic of discussion.

"Hey! What exactly is your issue with me?" The infuriating asshat just spun around gracefully and raised an eyebrow. He irritatingly looked like a GQ model. What was with all the damn dress shirts?

"I'm sorry?"

"You insulted my intelligence the other day? If you recall?" John crossed his arms and got a good confrontational distance away.

"Oh, yes. American football with a side of dancing. I had almost deleted it." He was stupidly calm.

"My name is John. John Watson. At least know the name of the person you decide to insult."

"Sherlock Holmes." Tilting his head like he had a few days ago, he moved closer to John. Jesus, he was tall.

"You've got questions." John blinked and unintentionally backed off a little.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do. How did you know those things about me?"

"That you played either soccer or football? Obvious. Your backpack has a 'Groves Sports' key chain on it so you're committed to it enough to have something like that on you at all times, sentiment, but yet you're at rehearsals. That cuts out the most time-consuming sports, such as swimming, but you're at rehearsals so if you were a part of the more successful teams you would have had practice till later. Not to mention that Mr. Radford is pulling people out of the proper and American football teams the most, so it makes it statistically more likely. Like I said. Obvious.

"Now, your sister. When you knocked into me your phone almost fell out of your pocket so the bottom of it was sticking out. The phone in question has 'Glee' stickers all over it but looked like they were in the process of being peeled off. So not originally your phone. Who would you inherit a phone from that would have an obsession with that vapid program? A sister."

"...How did you know about the drinking?"

"Ooh. Shot in the dark. Good one, though. The charger port. It has scratches around the edge. She goes to plug in her phone but her hands are shaking. Never see them on a sober person's phone; never see a drunks without them."

John blinked and tried to come back to reality. That was

"Amazing." Holmes stepped back slightly and looked like he'd just been slapped across the face.

"Really?"

"Yes. Truly amazing. How did you learn to do that?"

"That's…not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off." John smirked a little.

"Well, I don't blame them there." Holmes let a small smile flood his expression. It was such a huge shift from the cold indifference that was displayed there before, that John couldn't help but join in.

"Hey Watson, what's up you son of a bitch?!" John turned sharply away from Holmes.

"Nothing much, Moran."

"You coming to the party tonight?"

"Nah, I got rehearsal."

"Haha, be careful, John, or you'll turn into one of them!" John laughed with him but he was very conscious of Holmes standing right there.

"That laugh was fake."

"Sorry?"

"When you were 'laughing' at that inane joke. It was fake."

"And how can you possibly known that?"

"Obvious."

"I'm starting to think that's your favorite word. It's not obvious to me."

"When you laughed, you shifted your feet slightly and fiddled with the string that is currently hanging off your bag like you were nervous. Also, the muscles in your face were tense, particularly that of your jaw and forehead. All indicating to the fact that you weren't laughing naturally. That and it wasn't the same laugh you used not three minutes ago." John started to wonder if the only thing Holmes could do was smirk.

"Okay, okay. I get it. You're a genius and I'm a monkey."

"Wonderful, John. You're finally seeing things my way."

John couldn't have stopped himself laughing if he wanted to.

"You're all right, Holmes."

~o0o~

John took a drink from his water bottle as he dragged himself back stage. These rehearsals were getting harder. Radford was starting to get nitpicky and it was driving them all up the wall. At least rehearsal was over today. Now John could go home and sleep for the entire weekend.

"Oh there you are, John. I acquire your assistance." Well, he would. If a genius from the 1800s trapped inside a teenager didn't come drag him off to do God knows what after rehearsal.

"What is it this time, Holmes?" He asked warily.

Holmes had done this after every single rehearsal. John tried to just shake him off and go home but quickly figured out it was a lot less annoying to just follow him. Every single time it was always something like: _"John, go find the screwdriver."_ He didn't mind, though. They always found something to talk about. Especially John, or Holmes' experiments involving paint colors, or his annoying brother Mycroft. Their time together was nice. But even after two weeks he still didn't know what Holmes did here.

"An experiment, John. Working out well so far." Holmes lit up and did a slight bounce on the balls of his feet. It was kind of adorable. He grabbed John's hand and pulled him quickly in the opposite direction and onto the stage. His fingers fit snuggly with the pale, thin digits that surrounded them.

"Hey, where are we going? Holmes?"

"Quiet, John, I'm thinking." John sighed. He's not sure he would ever get used to this guy.

Holmes ended up dragging him up the back steps in the audience of the auditorium to the room in the back.

"Where are we?" John looked around. There were machines, something that looked like a switchboard, and a laptop set up in front of the little window that looked down onto the stage. It was a cramped little area and smelled vaguely like burning plastic.

"The lighting booth. Now, watch, John, I've discovered this new design that can be used to mimic night." He was stationed in front of the laptop clicking away at the buttons as a virtual stage lit up the computer. The few tiny lighting icons that were towards the back of the stage lit up midnight blue and projected it across the sheet that hung across the back. Holmes pressed a few more buttons and tiny stars appeared splattered across it, along with a subtle moon. It was beautiful.

"Now watch the stage." John moved forward and leaned over to look out the window in time to see the stage light up more vividly than the computer had while Holmes slid knobs along the switchboard.

"Whoa….That's amazing." John looked back to Holmes. He was staring out the window, his eyes soft and fond, and the glow of the dull, blue and white light from the stage reflected off his pale skin. It was almost ethereal. It was—"It's gorgeous."

"Thank you. Simple stuff really. The scoop lights have a simple midnight blue gel on them while we pointed a few of the Fresnels toward the syke and put gobos that are just tiny dots. No color on those. The moon is Molly's doing. She's in the spotlight booth with a moon gobo. Basic really."

"I don't think so. I think it's fantastic. I couldn't have come up with that."

"Of course you couldn't have. You're an idiot." John gave him an exasperated look. "Oh don't be like that, nearly everyone is." John just chuckled quietly as they both stood up straight and smiled.

"Holmes, you may be a bit strange but you're the most brilliant strange person I have ever met."

Holmes grinned down at him, moving away from the switchboard slightly, and  
John was struck with how close they were in the tiny space. The air seemed to leave the room as John's smile faded and he was stuck in Holmes' now intense gaze. His eyes were just as striking as ever.

"John, why do you call me 'Holmes'?" He said quietly and only shifting slightly. But it was enough to snap John out of whatever the hell that was. He stepped back slightly and shifted his line of vision to the still lit-up stage.

"O-oh. I guess it was because I tend to do that with my team mates. It's become sort of a habit, I guess."

"Hmm. I see. Refrain from that from now on. Call me Sherlock, please." At this point he'd turned back to the switchboard and started turning off the lights one by one. "Excuse the tedious process of shutting off the light board, if you will. "

"Okay, Sherlock." Sherlock shut off all the lights and swept out of the lighting booth. John was a little disappointed and he couldn't figure out why...

~o0o~

John was standing off stage and waiting for their cue for the dance number. It was fun, really. They got instructions and were expected to follow them. They had to work as a team in these numbers and the acting scenes. It was a lot like the sports dynamic if you thought about it.

"They won't need you for another twenty minutes, you know." John gasped at the now familiar voice of his friend spoken low next to his ear.

"Jesus, Sherlock. You scared the shit out of me."

"I'm sorry," No he wasn't. "But I needed to speak with you without Radford hearing me talk backstage. He seems to have his knickers in a twist more than usual and I don't particularly want to be in the crossfire." They both looked at each other, silent for a moment.

And then promptly burst out in quiet, suppressed laughter.

John had to use Sherlock for support he was laughing so hard and Sherlock pressed his hand to his mouth so his usual deep chuckle wouldn't be heard onstage.

"Shhh, be quiet; we can't giggle in a rehearsal."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him, John."

"Well, well. Hello freak. You usually don't show your face around here. Too busy hiding up in your freaky little techy hole." John's expression twisted in rage and a bit of horror. Sherlock just nonchalantly turned around to face the girl.

"Hello Sally. I see you and Anderson have been taking frequent visits to the closest janitor closet going by the state of your knees." Sally spluttered and her cheeks turned pink as the dancers around them gave her looks.

"Come, John. I need your assistance," Sherlock said stiffly.

"I can't, Sherlock, rehearsal—"

"I told you they won't need you for twenty minutes." Sherlock had whirled around and got close enough to John that he could whisper. "P-please."

That did it for John. That slightly broken 'please', when all he'd ever heard from Sherlock was demands.

"Of course."

~o0o~

"Sherlock, are you alright?"

"Of course, yes of course. I'm fine. I'm good." Sherlock was pacing farther backstage where they were separated from the other actors and dancers.

"Sherlock, obviously you're not. Was it because of Sally?" Sherlock spun around in a small fit of rage.

"Of course it was Sally! It's always Sally or someone like her. Someone who never appreciates my intelligence. No one ever does! They all call me freak or mental or that one circus spectacle that could tell who shagged who and who cheated on their maths test! IT'S ALWAYS THEM." Sherlock fell against a wall and slid down to the floor, his head in his hands.

"I've always been picked on and ostracized for my intellect. Mycroft would tell me it's because they feel threatened and that I should just ignore it. But then it turned physical." Sherlock looked back up at John. He wasn't crying, John wasn't sure he _could_ get that emotional, but he was certainly choked up and it tore at John's heart.

"They would find me after school every day and throw me to the ground, taking turns kicking me. The day I came home with a broken leg was the day Mummy snapped." Sherlock curled tighter around himself and tucked his head into his knees. John couldn't take it anymore and joined Sherlock on the floor. "That was last summer. I'm sure you can deduce what happened next."

John debated doing something more to comfort the person who was quickly becoming John's closest friend. He decided to sling an arm over Sherlock's shoulders and gather him in. Sherlock didn't respond but he allowed it.

"But it didn't help, John," He said lifting his face to seemingly search John's face for answers. "It's still happening here in America. And it shouldn't get to me but it does. I'm above all this. I'm smarter than every single person in this entire school; I shouldn't fall victim to emotions. But my body and mind betray me." John's heart broke for him. He shouldn't have to deal with this, no one should. He tightened the arm that wound around his friend.

"You _are_ better than them, Sherlock. So much better. And you're not a freak or inhuman to me. You're wonderful and brilliant and they can shove it up their stupid, pompous asses." Sherlock chuckled at that and relaxed slightly, resting his head on John's shoulder. They were both quiet for a moment.

"John?"

"Hmm?"

"...Thank you."

~o0o~

"Take a five minute break, everyone!"

That had been a good run and everyone knew it. John sat down with his water bottle when a girl he'd never talked to before sat down next to him.

"Hey. You're John, right? The one who hangs out with Sherlock?" John smiled. Of course that's what they would know him as. He didn't mind though. Sherlock was Sherlock.

"Yeah. Thank you for not calling him 'the freak'."

"No problem. I hate when they do that. They're just a bunch of idiots. I mean, Sherlock is quiet but he's not a monster. He just showed up at the beginning of the year. I think Mr. Radford did one of his 'rescue the kid with no friends and make him do something theatrical' things. But he's good with lights, so he stayed." John decided he liked this girl. She wasn't like the others.

"I'm Jenny. It's nice to meet you. I've got to go, though. My friend's hyperventilating over memorizing her lines." She turned away but then turned back. "You know, I'm glad that you're here. He doesn't have many friends. I've tried to talk to him but for some reason you're the only one who's really gotten through."

"Yeah. I'm glad, too." She turned to leave again.

"Oh! And John? He likes you, too, from what little I've seen. You men are so clueless."

John stared after her. He had absolutely no idea what that meant and decided to just ignore it.

~o0o~

"John, what do you see here?" Sherlock was agitated. He spoke pleasantly but his jaw was clenched. Someone was in for it.

"Um. Lighting equipment?"

"Yes. And?" John thought for a moment.

"They're stacked against the wall and there are fingerprints on them, kind of looks like makeup, so I'm assuming someone touched them that wasn't you." John took a shot in the dark but he was pretty sure he was right. Felt pretty good about that actually.

"Wonderful, John. And?" John wrinkled his eyebrows.

"Uh…they're sitting on the floor." Sherlock's lips twitched but not in annoyance.

"Perfectly sound analysis but I was hoping you'd go deeper." Sherlock's eyes flashed in amusement as his voice dropped to a lower pitch than usual and John couldn't exactly breathe at the moment.

Ah. So that's what Jenny meant.

~o0o~

"John?" Sherlock did his usual kidnapping maneuver and just had them sit on the edge of the stage that day. It was strange, but this was Sherlock.

"Yeah?"

"Could you help me with an experiment?"

"Don't I always?"

"Yes. But I'm not sure you would want to assist me on a Saturday."

"Oh. Well, I'm sure I could help. Where to?"

"My house."

~o0o~

Sherlock's house was huge. It was in that really nice part of town everyone hates, unless they live there, but they still go to gawk at the houses. His parents must be loaded to be able to have a house this big here and still live in England.

"This is where Mycroft and I live. Mummy stayed in London. Don't let your jaw hang open if you're going to drool, John. It will attract small birds." John snapped his mouth closed and followed Sherlock up the walk from the amazing car Mycroft had sent to pick him up. This was getting ridiculous.

"So, what did you say your brother did again?"

"He would tell you he occupies a minor position in the British Government and is currently assisting the lower levels of the American Government. A load of bollocks really. He IS the British government. He's never here anymore, anyways. He's always catching jets to and from Washington DC."

Right. Government. Power. Able to put John in prison at a word. Right.

"Oh don't worry, John. I believe Mycroft is rather fond of you already."

"How—never mind. Did you tell him about me?" Sherlock didn't answer, as he opened the front door.

"Come, John. We have lots to do."

~o0o~

Sherlock's room was...well. Sherlock. It was large and messy, filled with computers, books about lighting, a microscope, vials, Petri dishes, strange liquids, random bits of machinery, papers, and...was that a skull? John shouldn't have been surprised. Sherlock was very science oriented.

"So, what do you need my help with?"

"Something simple involving the chemistry of the human body," He mentioned, shutting the door and walking in front of John.

"Ha, okay, what-" Sherlock spun around so quickly, John barely had time to gasp before he was crowded back against the door, his wrist in Sherlock's hand. Sherlock was inches from him and John was paralyzed as Sherlock scanned his face for something. John had no idea what and was in no position to ask but he must have found what he was looking for.

"Fascinating." John licked his lips and swallowed involuntarily.

"What's fascinating?" He replied, sounding as out of breath as he felt. Sherlock smirked as he let go of his wrist. John realized that it had somehow become his favorite expression on Sherlock's face.

"You."

Sherlock kissed him.

Sherlock Holmes had just pressed his perfectly-shaped lips to John Watson's and frankly, John didn't give a shit about anything else in the universe at the moment.

John pressed upward into the kiss and reached up to wind his hands into Sherlock's curls, turning it from sweet and simple to something much different. Sherlock stood closer and pressed John into the door, placing his hands on his hips. It was intense and John gave back as much as he got.

John broke first and came up for air.

"I see what you were getting at. Might be the best damn experiment you ever came up with," John gasped.

Sherlock smiled but was similarly out of breath. Neither of them had moved from their position against the door and John was pretty sure he didn't want to.

"But that wasn't just an experiment, was it?" John looked down at the collar of Sherlock's shirt. He liked Sherlock. A whole hell of a lot. He knew that now. But he wouldn't put it past Sherlock to do this because he actually wanted to run an experiment.

"No, John. It wasn't. Surely even your simple mind can deduce that on its own." John grinned a little stupidly, despite the insult.

"So, you like me. As in have feelings more than friendship for me?" Sherlock rolled his eyes but he was still smiling.

"Obviously." Same old Sherlock. John wouldn't change that for the world.

"Then what's with the pretense? Why not just tell me?" Sherlock's smile dropped and he looked slightly uncomfortable.

"I wanted to make sure. I'm not good with emotions. Well. I'm not good with my own emotions or those in relation to me. Mycroft says I'm a bit oblivious in that respect. But I managed to pinpoint my own feelings a few weeks ago when I took you up to see my lighting. And you kept saying 'amazing', 'brilliant' to everything I did. No one's ever done that before. It only confirmed it when you comforted me during my...episode.

"Then just now I needed to see if you felt the same. I had my suspicions but then I took your pulse. It increased to a noticeable level and then I watched your pupils dilate. It's simple chemistry."

John shook his head affectionately and pulled Sherlock down to kiss him again. Same Sherlock, indeed.

~o0o~

"John? I'm curious. I took you for straight at first..." Sherlock inquired as John sprawled on Sherlock's bed and Sherlock fiddled with his microscope.

"So why aren't I have a sexual Identity crisis right now?"

"To put it bluntly, yes." John shrugged.

"I'm bisexual. Figured it out last year when I joined the football team. Kind of hard to ignore." Sherlock snorted.

"Yes, I suppose it would be. Considering half the team is gay." John's eyes widened.

"Seriously?"

"Okay, maybe not half but at least a fourth. It's so obvious, John!" He exclaimed spinning around away from the microscope. "Why else would a bunch of teenage boys sign up to 'dog pile' and run up and down groping each other all day! It's prepo—"

John cut him off with a kiss after he had rose from the bed and walked over without Sherlock noticing. He could do that now and it was just so endearing when Sherlock ranted.

"All right, you have a point. But…just keep that bit to yourself, yeah?"

~o0o~

On Monday, when John came to rehearsal holding Sherlock's hand, Jenny winked at him from across the auditorium. John grinned happily back.

_Happy Birthday, Jenny! (Yes she was one of my OCs) Review please! 3_


End file.
